The morning sun had just barely crested the distant mountains, casting soft golden light across the misty surface of Mirrowind Lake. The air was still cool and damp, heavy with the scent of moss, earth, and dew. Birds called faintly in the trees, and somewhere deeper in the forest, the slow hum of waking life began to stir.

Séraphin and Lucien were already awake, moving with quiet purpose through the cool air of the cave. Their steps were nearly silent on the smooth stone floor, careful not to disturb the small bundle sleeping in the corner. Nestled within a large, carefully crafted nest of downy feathers, supple leaves, and woven twigs, their daughter slumbered peacefully, her tiny form barely shifting beneath the warmth of her coverings.

Lucien crouched beside the nest first, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face with the lightest touch of his clawed fingers. His lips curled into a small, fond smile. "She sleeps like the dead," he whispered jokingly, glancing over his shoulder at Séraphin. "Takes after you."

Séraphin snorted quietly, crossing his arms. His crimson eyes softened as he gazed at their daughter. "She’s wise," he murmured dryly. "Knows the world isn’t worth rushing into." Lucien huffed a quiet laugh, rising to his feet. "Come on, brooding poet. The lake’s not going to catch our breakfast for us."

Side by side, they left the cool shadow of the cave, stepping out into the breathtaking expanse of the lakeshore. The trees stood tall and solemn around them, their trunks cloaked in soft moss, their branches heavy with mist. The surface of Mirrowind Lake was a perfect mirror, reflecting the pale, awakening sky in hues of pink and gold. Tiny ripples formed where fish disturbed the glassy water below.

The two swan-blooded hunters moved in near silence, their dark figures blending naturally into the morning mist. It was their ritual: early hunt, shared words, and return before their daughter stirred from sleep.

As they neared the water’s edge, Lucien flexed his arms, rolling his shoulders. "I’ll bet I catch more than you today," he said with a smirk, already tossing aside his outer cloak to reveal lean, powerful muscle. His black wings twitched slightly in anticipation.

Séraphin gave him a long, unimpressed look. "You’re welcome to dream." His voice was dry as ever, but a rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

With that, both men slipped into the shallows, moving with predatory grace. Their crimson eyes tracked the darting shapes beneath the surface, muscles coiled with patience. Each strike was swift, sure—Séraphin’s hand flashed down like a spear, pulling a silver-scaled fish from the depths, while Lucien lunged with fierce precision, catching two in quick succession.

The hunt lasted just under an hour, the sun rising higher, warming the crisp air. Their basket grew heavier with each pass. Finally satisfied, with their prize secured, Séraphin and Lucien turned back toward their home, speaking lightly as they walked.

"She’ll be awake by now," Lucien said, shaking droplets of water from his dark hair. "Likely hungry," Séraphin agreed. "Good thing you caught enough for three."

They laughed together quietly, the bond between them unspoken but strong.

But the moment they stepped back into the cool embrace of the cave, the easy joy bled away.

The nest was empty.

No small figure curled among the feathers and leaves. No quiet, sleepy stirring. No soft breaths.

Only silence.

Lucien froze first, the basket slipping from his fingers and hitting the stone floor with a dull, wet thud. "Where—?" His voice broke halfway through the word.

Séraphin was already moving, crossing the cave in a few long strides, tearing apart the nest with desperate, trembling hands. "She’s not here," he growled, voice low and dangerous.

"She wouldn’t leave alone," Lucien said fiercely, his eyes wide with panic, his wings flaring out instinctively. "She’s too small—she wouldn't—!"

They split without another word, instinct taking over. Séraphin tore through the cave’s narrow tunnels, checking every crevice, every hollowed-out pocket of stone. Lucien ran outside, shouting her name into the mist, his voice carrying across the empty lake.

The morning, once so peaceful and golden, now felt heavy and suffocating. The trees seemed too quiet. The lake too still. No tiny footprints. No giggles. No sign of their precious daughter.

Only an aching, growing dread in their chests.